


modus vivendi

by hgdoghouse



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Meeting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgdoghouse/pseuds/hgdoghouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle's first six weeks as partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	modus vivendi

This not what Cowley's sales pitch had let him to expect, Bodie gave the squalor of the squad room a look of disdain and wondered when he would be allowed to get down to some real work. The training course had been a piece of cake for an ex-paratrooper.

Having tested the sagging settee, whose springs were non-existent, Bodie looked round for some distraction. Neither the dog-eared, year-old copies of _Playboy_ or the battered darts board tempted him. Controlling his impatience, and refusing to admit that he was nervous, he went over to the chipped sink, next to which he found a number of stained mugs and the means of making tea and coffee. Filling the kettle, he switched it on and tensed a little when he heard the door behind him open.

"Lucas! I might have guessed you'd be the first to slope off. Have you seen Doyle?" The raspy voice grew more distinct as the speaker drew closer to the half-open door.

"No, but last I heard he was in Cowley's office."

"Again?"

"Yeah. He's been creating merry hell at the prospect of having another dickhead dumped on him for a partner. Can't say I blame him after the Harvey cock-up. I reckon the Old Man's making a bit mistake trying to team Ray again."

"Planning to tell the Major as much?"

"Give me a break, Barry. Why d'you want Ray anyway?"

"That's for me to know, old son. See you around."

"Thanks a bundle. Oldest bloody swinger in town," muttered the younger voice as the door opened fully. Entering the room, Lucas stopped short when he saw Bodie. "Hello. You're new, aren't you?"

"That's right."

"I'm Keith Lucas."

"Bodie. Doyle's new partner," he added without expression.

"Ah." With the air of one accustomed to ignoring potentially embarrassing moments, Lucas strolled to the window. "If you're making tea I wouldn't mind a cup. So you'll be working with Ray. Third time lucky, I suppose. Or maybe it's just a case of things running in threes. We buried Doyle's last partner."

Having ignored Lucas's request, Bodie added sugar to his tea and stirred it twice. "Was he dead at the time?"

"Very," said a new voice from the doorway.

Turning without haste, Bodie studied the newcomer.

"Did you know Barry was looking for you, Ray?"

"Only when he found me."

Following the direction of Doyle's gaze, Lucas gestured vaguely in Bodie's direction. "Meet Bodie, your new partner. Bodie, Ray Doyle."

"Doyle," acknowledged Bodie without enthusiasm.

"Well, at least you got that much right. Cowley wants a word with you. Now," added Doyle, when Bodie carried on drinking his tea. "I'll see you afterwards."

"It seems inevitable," Bodie agreed, seemingly oblivious to the other man's raking stare.

Making a sound of impatience Doyle turned on his heel and stalked off, narrowly missing the group of men who had been about to enter the room.

"Can see this is going to be another marriage made in heaven," remarked Lucas to no one in particular as the room filled up.

"It's early days yet," said Marriott, having introduced himself to Bodie. "Do you know where Cowley's office yet?" he asked.

"Yes. This tea's disgusting," Bodie added dispassionately.

"The coffee's even worse," drawled a blond-haired man, lighting a cigar.

"What's Doyle's problem?" asked Bodie abruptly, knowing he would learn more from the reaction his question elicited than from a week of hyperbole.

"You, I reckon. Ray's OK," Marriott added with finality, his tone hardening. The others nodded, good-humoured curiosity vanishing from their manner.

Solidarity against the unknown was obviously the norm, recognised Bodie with well-hidden approval. "Well, if that's his only problem, we'll be fine." Setting down his mug, he strolled out of the room, aware of the conversations already starting up.

Not for the first time, Bodie wondered how the wily Scot had tricked him into agreeing to give CI5 a year's trial. Even worse was the fact he had agreed to work with a partner. Aware from the recruits' rumour mill that agent 4.5 was considered to be both a star in the ascendant and a royal pain in the arse, Bodie knew he wasn't in for an easy time of it. That didn't bother him nearly as much as the jolt of lust he'd felt for the man after just one glance. What was worse, the tatty scruff scowling at him from the doorway wasn't even his type.

He'd cope. He'd have to. Keller had taught him that emotional involvement didn't pay. Bodie took teamwork for granted, but a one-to-one pairing... Thrusting the past behind him, he knocked briskly on the Controller's door and entered when it was acknowledged.

His first sight was of Doyle, who was leaning over the desk, irritation and a trace of anger on his face. Glancing round, Doyle's expression smoothed into an expressionless mask when he saw who stood there.

"Ah, Bodie. Come in and take a seat. Doyle."

Slumping down on the other chair, Doyle's brooding gaze returned to the older man. Cowley's introduction did not tell either man anything new about the other, but his crisp tone and piercing stare produced some surface civilities from Doyle, who hauled himself a little further up in his chair.

His expression bland, Bodie refused to react. He had the suspicion that unless he was quick to make his mark, Ray Doyle of the luscious mouth, long legs, delectable arse and sour disposition would walk all over him.

After ten minutes more in Cowley's inhibiting presence they were dismissed. Seemingly resigned to the order that they get to know one another better, Doyle suggested they adjourn to the nearest pub.

No more convinced that he should have to suffer the indignity of a partner now than when Cowley had broken the news to him, Bodie held out until they had settled themselves at a corner table. Aware of the easy arrogance in Doyle's manner, his impatience got the better of him: any reaction was better than none.

"Got any hobbies?" he asked. "Apart from stamp collecting, that is. Me, I like to eat green-eyed gollies. You doing anyone tonight?" He allowed himself to look Doyle over, taking his time.

The crude proposition was uttered so casually that Doyle, who had been sunk in gloomy thought, wondered if he had misunderstood. A quick glance convinced him he had not, Bodie's assessing gaze openly stripping him. Sitting back, Doyle returned the other man's stare, even such a short acquaintance telling him that outraged machismo would be a mistake.

"Cowley didn't tell me you were bi," he remarked.

"He didn't say you were, either. Shows we both had the sense not to tell him everything."

"While that much is certainly true, I don't put out for anyone with extraneous equipment." There was a damning lack of interest in Doyle's voice.

Still on the prod, Bodie's eyes narrowed. "I should've guessed...a bigot."

Doyle took a mouthful of lager. "As far as I'm concerned you can swing by whatever appendage you like - so long as it doesn't fuck up your work with me."

"That's very generous of you."

"Only while you don't screw up." Doyle took another reviving gulp of his drink. "What do I call you - Bill?"

"Bodie."

"Just Bodie?" The edge had returned to Doyle's voice.

"That's right."

"Oh gawd," sighed Doyle. Another brain-dead para. who'd watched too many Clint Eastwood films was all he needed. "What's your problem? Afraid someone will get too familiar?"

"No," said Bodie, with great confidence and no hesitation.

Doyle spared him another glance. While not of the bulging biceps school, the self-contained man opposite him exuded a sense of power which didn't depend wholly on his physique. While Bodie's confidence in himself was probably exaggerated, Doyle was willing to concede that this man-with-one-name was a distinct improvement on the last two men Cowley had landed on him. Picking up his glass and trying to look on the bright side - because Cowley had made it clear he didn't have any other option - Doyle's absent gaze settled with vague approval on the barmaid as she emerged to collect empty glasses.

"How do you know I won't dash off to tell Cowley about your sexual proclivities?" Doyle asked, returning his attention to Bodie only when the barmaid disappeared from his line of vision. "There's no provision in the small print for gays. Or bis," he added, having noticed Bodie's attention stray to the legs which had momentarily distracted him.

"If you take the small print as gospel, CI5 consists of nothing but neuters." The speculative look Bodie directed at Doyle spoke volumes.

With nothing to prove, Doyle ignored the provocation. "So you thought you'd reassure me. That's very thoughtful of you, but you still haven't answered my question. Thanks to Lucas, you know I don't want another partner. Given the fact I've got eighteen months active service over you, my wishes are more likely to carry more weight with Cowley than yours. How can you be so sure I won't use that information against you?"

That had been only one of the calculated risks Bodie had taken. "If your opinion carried that much weight we wouldn't be sitting here now. Besides, the door's that way if you want to tell him."

"So it is. I fight my own battles."

"You're going to fight for your honour?" returned Bodie flippantly. An expression he did not understand flicked across the other man's face before it was gone.

"Won't need to, will I." While Bodie was wondering whether that flat confidence was a compliment or not, Doyle continued, "I take it you're not thrilled about this teaming either?"

"Given the fact you got your last partner killed, should I be?" countered Bodie.

Doyle's eyes narrowed fractionally before he relaxed. "You were right," he admitted, "Cowley didn't give me a choice about you. If I want to stay on the streets, I have to give you a trial. So that's what you'll have. And I'll stay on the streets whatever the outcome."

Bodie straightened in his chair. "I'm a difficult man to kill."

"I'm glad to hear it." Doyle sounded amused.

"Where were you when Harvey died?"

Doyle eyed him thoughtfully; it wasn't an unreasonable question in the circumstances. "About ten feet away," he said.

"Presumably there was an investigation."

"You've met Cowley. What do you think?"

"That I'll reserve judgement," said Bodie, draining his glass.

"Are you suggesting I do the same thing about you?"

"Coppers aren't known for it." Bodie's tone had further cooled.

"Ah, so that's your problem," said Doyle wisely, that a prejudice he had encountered many times, even if he hadn't learnt to like it.

"No, you're my problem - until Cowley concedes that teaming us won't work."

"I shouldn't hold your breath. He's not given to admitting he's made a mistake."

"While you never make snap judgements, I suppose?"

Doyle spared him a brief, weary glance. "You army types are all alike. So full of macho crap you forget there's job to be done. Look at you. One name, no past worth mentioning... I'm all for a bit of mystery, but not with a bloke whose back I'm supposed to be guarding."

Bodie let the insult go because he liked the way Doyle had phrased his concern. Most men would have mentioned their own backs first. Rumour said Ray Doyle was good; in fact, according to some sources, he could damn well walk on water.

"Is that a warning or a promise?" he asked, beginning to wonder about the circumstances of Harvey's death from a different perspective.

"Both." His tone mild, Doyle sustained his companion's aggressive stare without difficulty.

"I like to know where I stand." Bodie's manner had undergone a slight thaw. Having perfected the art of looking after himself years ago, he was prepared to give Doyle the benefit of the doubt - for now.

"And you can't see any point in subtlety? Fine. I'll indent for a choke chain and lead."

Sensitive to the charge, his lack of finesse having been a sore point with commanding officers in the past, Bodie was on the point of making a scathing retort when Doyle grinned.

"Start a brawl in here and Cowley will lock you up and throw away the key." Doyle judged his pause to a nicety. "After you come out of hospital, that is."

"You reckon?" Hauteur gave way to an unwilling amusement. "Cowley must be mad. No one could work with anyone as obnoxious as you," muttered Bodie, who was finding Doyle's physical allure an unwelcome distraction, the more so because the man wasn't his type. All eyes, hair and with a mouth which might have been created with oral sex in mind, Doyle looked far from any of the coppers Bodie had encountered in his checkered career. "What are you?" he added abruptly.

"Good," said Doyle promptly.

"What at?"

"Anything I choose to put my hand to."

As Doyle was sending out conflicting signals, Bodie hedged his bets. "I've never had a sleeping partner before."

"Not according to some of the stories I've heard about your old mob." When Bodie again failed to rise to the bait, Doyle finished his pint and set the glass down with a decisive click, having come to a decision he hoped he wouldn't kill him. "Look, I'm sure the black leather and smouldering look go down a treat in the clubs, but my bedmates aren't built like shit-outhouses."

"Prefer 'em dainty, do you?" inquired Bodie with interest.

Beginning to believe he was getting his companion's measure, Doyle gave a resigned grin. "Stick around long enough, maybe you'll find out. You're gorgeous and you know it, but you'll have to offer more than that to tempt me."

"Incomparable technique?"

"Already got one, thank you."

Inclined to believe him, Bodie half-wished he had chosen a different tack with which to make his mark.

"Anything else?" Doyle asked, as if puzzled by the ensuing silence.

"Apart from my personal charisma, savoir faire and devastating good looks, you mean?"

Doyle gave a reluctant grin. "Dunno how I could have overlooked them."

"No taste, that's your trouble. Right, now that's out of the way, what's this Macklin bloke like?"

"Ex-army, ex-MI6. Mean, moody and he'd like to think magnificent. You'll have a lot in common."

"You can't stand him," recognised Bodie.

"He does his job," said Doyle, his tone non-committal.

"Is he any good?"

"You don't stay in this mob for long if you're not. Ask me again at the end of the week."

Mistrusting the amused glint in Doyle's eyes, Bodie had the sense not to push. "A week seems a long time, considering I've just finished the training course. Or is it for your benefit?"

"Time will tell," said Doyle placidly.

"I suppose it will," agreed Bodie. He was looking forward to proving himself. "I'm starving. You know the area around here, I don't. Is that Italian place we passed any good?"

"So so. There's a better one about ten minutes from here."

"Then let's go and eat."

"What's the catch?" asked Doyle warily.

"I'm cut to the quick," said Bodie, getting to his feet and heading out of the door.

"No," said a voice at his shoulder, "you're not. But it's a distinct possibility if you ever try to stitch me up again."

oOo

 

"So what do you think of Macklin now?" asked Doyle when they were safely away from the disused warehouse Macklin used.

"That I might kill him one day," mumbled Bodie, opening a swollen eyelid.

"Join the queue, my son. Don't fall asleep on me yet. There's a pub coming up that serves good beer and great food. I'll buy us a pint."

Bodie's face was eloquent of his disbelief at the offer; no-one would ever accuse Doyle of trying to buy his way into anyone's affections. "What's it going to cost me?"

"Cynic."

"Realist. Why the change of heart on your part?" asked Bodie, wondering if he was past it. He would have sworn nothing could be worse than the initial course for acceptance into the paras. - until he met Brian Macklin.

Having left the North Circular, Doyle drove deeper into suburbia before signalling and turning into a small car park in front of a mock-Tudor pub.

Putting on the hand-brake, Doyle deliberately took his time before replying. It had been an interesting week, in more ways than one. Bodie had done well. More than that, they had been able to work together from the first, communicating with an ease Doyle hadn't thought to question until now. What Harvey wouldn't have noticed emblazoned in letters ten feet high, Bodie had understood in a glance. While fiercely competitive, Bodie hadn't fallen into the classic trap Macklin set for the glory-seekers: would-be stars rarely lived long enough to twinkle in CI5. More disconcertingly, this had been the first time Doyle had met anyone who could make Macklin smile with rather than at them. Bodie was certifiable in some of the risks he was prepared to take, but that wasn't necessarily a handicap in CI5, almost the norm, in fact.

"Don't tell me you're finally lost for words," prompted Bodie into the extended silence.

"Dream on. It's time to shake the moths out of your wallet."

Abandoning thoughts of an early death, an involuntary grunt escaped Bodie as he left the car. He gave his more mobile companion a sour glance. "Why should I squander my hard-earned cash on you?"

"What else d'you think a partner's for?"

"Good question."

Noticing the signs of discomfort Bodie could not hide as they walked across the car park to the _Rose and Crown_ , Doyle shook his head. "No-one asked you to take a boot in the goolies," he said unsympathetically.

"Fine. Next time I'll let Macklin wrap that bike chain around your neck. He fights dirty." There was a grudging respect in Bodie's tone.

"It gets results," shrugged Doyle, aware that he was never usually this philosophical after a session with Macklin. Their dislike was mutual and unveiled, the more so since Harvey's death on Macklin's last training course.

"That's certainly true." Bodie paused. "Until you went for him, I'd been wondering how you stayed alive on the streets."

"Oh?" Doyle came to a halt, turned and scowled, his body language an eloquent declaration of intent.

Bodie just grinned. "Your face will stick in that expression one day. What d'you expect me to think about a bloke your weight? I couldn't see how you could take out a bigger man with similar skills."

"I seem to remember bringing you down easily enough," said Doyle acidly.

"The first time."

"Forgotten to count, have you?"

"OK, I'll give you that one. You're a tricky bastard, and fast. Remind me not to get you mad," Bodie added. "Shame I missed the highlight when you brought Macklin down."

"You had other things on your mind," allowed Doyle, remembering the silent agony of the man curled in a ball on the floor, whooping for breath. "Reminds me." His gaze drifted down Bodie's body. "Everything OK, is it?"

"Want to check me out personally?"

Doyle gave an audible sigh. "I've never a hit a partner yet, but for you I could make an exception. Come on, hotshot, I'll buy the first round. I suppose you earned it."

"Careful, too much praise'll go to my head."

Doyle turned back to him at the entrance to the public bar. "Don't worry, that's not likely to be a problem."

Having no difficulty in believing him Bodie followed him without another word. While he was compiling quite a list of adjectives to describe Ray Doyle, boring was not one of them.

oOo

 

Still wary after the two disastrous teamings Cowley had inflicted on him, to Doyle's surprise his new partner betrayed no major flaw, except his propensity for needling. As Cowley had promised, Bodie possessed a number of skills which Doyle did not, and wasted little time in acquiring new ones. On a personal level he maintained a supercilious disdain for involvement at any level, to the degree where it began to irritate Doyle. He had intended to show the new man his place in no uncertain terms, but Bodie was so business-like that there were times when Doyle wondered if he had imagined the flare of lust in Bodie's eyes.

Time for quiet reflection was limited, pressure of work taking precedence over the never very burning question of whether his partner really had the hots for him.

oOo

 

Impressed by Doyle despite himself, Bodie wasn't sure what to make of the other man, who seemed a mass of contradictions. But because he knew he could and was learning a lot from Doyle, he applied himself to making the partnership work. It was easier than he had expected, despite their different styles and opposing attitudes.

Moderately satisfied with his progress after his first month on the squad, and almost resigned to the stretches of twelve hour observation duty Cowley had assigned them, Bodie gave his restlessly pacing partner a puzzled look.

"What's eating you now? You've been like a bear with a sore head all day."

Wheeling around, Doyle's face betrayed his impatience. "What's wrong is that I'm stuck on a routine bloody obbo that Betty could handle."

"So am I."

Doyle gave a hiss of exasperation. "What d'you expect this early on? I'm used to better. If it wasn't for you, I'd've been working on the Khan op."

"What have I done?" asked Bodie with a trace of indignation.

"You're so green they should be running a lawn mower over you. Oh, what's the use! I'm bloody lumbered with you. Just don't expect me to enjoy it," Doyle added.

Bodie continued to concentrate on the flat on the opposite side of the street from the dingy room they were occupying. Hating to be reminded of his lowly status as a new boy yet to prove himself, and aware that he had a way to go before he attained Doyle's level of competence (although nothing would have induced him to admit as much), Bodie made a conscious effort to quell his initial impulse.

"Instead of which I'm the lucky man who's had to listen to you moaning all night. Get off my back, Doyle. You're just pissed off because you've finally realised you're not indispensable."

Opening his mouth, Doyle paused, as if accepting an uncomfortable truth. "Maybe," he conceded gruffly, running a hand back through his hair. Leaning against the wall at the side of the window, he gave an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."

"This amount of boredom would get up anyone's nose," said Bodie, making a similar amount of effort. Leaning forward fractionally, he took a series of pictures. "Gillan's just gone in over the side fence. I reckon they're getting ready to move house."

"Are you sure?" Doyle was at his side in an instant.

"No, I thought I'd make it up. Are you going to call in for backup, or shall I?"

His RT already out, Doyle made his report with an admirable concision. "It looks like they're on the move," he added.

"I can't get a team there for at least thirty minutes," said Cowley.

There was a brief silence.

Keeping his expression impassive, Bodie checked his Smith & Wesson, waiting to hear what Doyle would say.

"By the look of things, that could be too late. We'll be OK," said Doyle.

There was another pause, this time from Cowley. "Just make sure you are. Oh, don't forget I want them alive."

"What about us?" asked Bodie, as he ran noiselessly down the stairs behind Doyle.

"He'd prefer us to survive - the cost of training agents plays hell with his budget. I'll take the front. We'll go in when the big hand's on four. You OK?"

Bodie spared him a look of surprise as they stood in the shelter provided by an overgrown private hedge. "Course. How about you?"

"One of these days," Doyle muttered. "Then get your arse round the back. Last one in gets to write up the report."

Bodie's intent expression lightened for a brief moment. "Then I hope you've got neat handwriting."

 

The operation went more smoothly than many of the training exercises, Gillan and Humphries taken without a shot being fired.

"Though next time try turning the door knob rather than knocking the door down. It saves no end of wear and tear," Doyle advised his partner, as they left their prisoners in the basement to await interrogation by Cowley.

Bodie eyed his companion's torn jeans. "Follow your example, you mean? It's lucky you weren't wearing anything that mattered."

"Bloody cheek! D'you know how much these jeans cost me? Never mind," added Doyle with resignation. "What would a tailor's dummy know."

"Who's going to be writing the report?" Bodie asked, ignoring the familiar slur. While his tone was determinedly casual, he had done well today and he knew it.

Doyle gave a hard-done-by sigh as they went into the office. "I will. This once. Can you type?"

"Nope," said Bodie happily, turning to leave Doyle to it.

Doyle hooked a finger in Bodie's jacket collar. "Then it's something else I'll have to teach you. This way," he added, heading for a battered desk. "Now, watch and marvel," he added, sitting down in front of a ancient manual typewriter and collecting up blank paper and carbons.

"Shouldn't they go the other way round?" asked Bodie, wanting to be helpful.

"Piss off," growled Doyle, his eyes narrowing as he began to peck at the keyboard with two fingers and a lot of bad language.

"Why don't you just dictate it?" asked Bodie, failing to look impressed by the other man's technique.

"Because some sod nicked my Dictaphone, that's why. Not to mention the fact that Cowley wants to see something on paper by half-past nine. Besides, there's no one in to type it up for me. Bugger." Unlocking two of the keys, Doyle returned to his task.

Bodie slid away. When he returned it was with tea, two sticky buns some agent had been foolish enough to leave lying around and a dictaphone stolen from Betty's top drawer.

His cheeks bulging with the bun he had forcibly removed from Bodie, Doyle gave him a look of approval. "We might make an agent of you yet," he conceded.

Hearing Cowley's voice in the corridor, Bodie quickly took the report Doyle had just finished from the machine. "You can't give him this. Or do you usually send him kisses?"

"Eh?" Getting up, Doyle peered over his shoulder. "Those are x's out, cretin. I couldn't find a rubber. It does look a bit... What time is it?"

"Just before nine," mumbled Bodie, who was demolishing the remainder of his snack.

"Then we've just got time."

"Where are you off to?" demanded Bodie, grabbing his mug of tea as he followed Doyle out into the corridor.

"Betty should be in. I'll con her into typing it up."

"You mean she talks to you?" Bodie eyed him with genuine respect.

Sorely tempted, Doyle opted for the truth. "Only when she has no alternative. But she owes me one."

"Yeah?" Scepticism informed Bodie's every line.

"Shit! There's Cowley. Go and distract him while I sneak this into her," hissed Doyle.

"Why me?"

"Because she can't stand you," said Doyle.

Unable to deny the truth of that, Bodie sighed and set off, pausing one step down the corridor. "You owe me for this."

"Maybe" said Doyle, disappearing into Betty's office.

oOo

 

Six weeks to the day after he had met Doyle, Bodie was told that his probation period was over and that the real work could begin. Doyle grinned at him from over Cowley's shoulder.

"And the honeymoon period."

Ignoring the interruption with the ease of long practice Cowley produced two thin files from the top drawer of his desk and passed one to each man. "I'll leave you read these in peace. They're not to leave this office. Clear?" he added, waiting only for their nods of assent before leaving the room.

Bodie fingered the tie fastening the file he had been given, which bore Doyle's name on the front cover. "I didn't know about this," he said sharply, his inner turmoil well-hidden. Ever since he'd joined up he'd wondered exactly what Cowley had on him.

"Nor did I," said Doyle, balancing the file he held in one hand, a faint frown in place. "I wonder what he's playing at. Cowley never hands out information unless he needs to - and sometimes not even then."

Bodie tossed the file back onto Cowley's desk. "There's no point me reading that."

"Why not?" asked Doyle, making himself comfortable in the only armchair.

"I'll find out all that's important for myself - on the street. I can live without details of your illustrious career in the Met. The way you bend my ear, I've probably heard it all already," Bodie added. But he wondered at the fleeting relief he glimpsed on the other man's face, speculating on what guilty secrets the lily-white ex-detective-constable could possibly be hiding.

"Please yourself. I'll see you later." Propping the ankle of his left leg on the knee of his right, Doyle reached for the ties securing Bodie's file. "Is there a problem?" he asked, looking up.

While Bodie told himself he could care less what Doyle thought of him, there were episodes in his life which he knew his depressingly moral partner would not approve of; there were some Bodie wasn't happy about himself.

"You don't think that - " Bodie gave the file Doyle held a scornful nod " - will tell you anything I can't?"

"As you don't tell me anything, I'd say it's a certainty," retorted Doyle. "What guilty little secrets are you afraid Cowley's ferreted out?"

"Read that and you'll probably find out," said Bodie colourlessly, before he quietly left Cowley's office, trying not to care that Doyle should trust him so little. He had only taken a dozen or so steps down the corridor when he realised he had company.

"There are two things I can't stand," said Doyle moodily from behind him, "and you're both of them."

Bodie was still smiling when he swung a round to wait for the other man to catch him up, which Doyle did with a poor grace. "Why blame me for your lack of taste?" he asked reasonably.

Muttering something under his breath, Doyle barrelled past him, allowing the swing door to flick back unchecked. Training and six weeks in Doyle's company had improved Bodie's already excellent reflexes.

"I didn't catch what you said." Bodie's tone was innocence personified as he kept pace with Doyle.

"You'd try the patience of a saint."

"That's no problem in your case. And that wasn't what you originally said either."

Doyle stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "I thought you didn't hear," he retorted childishly.

Bodie gave a smug grin.

"I said I don't like being made to feel nosy," added Doyle in a goaded tone, a pugnacious tilt to his chin.

"Or being put in the wrong, losing to me in the gym or on the rifle range," said Bodie placidly. "I can't say I enjoy the fact you can out shoot me with every handgun in the armoury, or that you hold out so long against me in the gym. And it gets right up my nose when you start lecturing me on police procedure. But do you hear me complain?"

"Complain?" Doyle took a pleasurable breath.

"Much," added Bodie conscientiously.

Doyle rubbed the side of his nose as they started down the staircase, shoulder to shoulder. "You do that less than me, I suppose," he conceded. "But, so help me, if you give me that smug 'who me?' look, I'll deck you here and now."

"Not in the hallowed precincts of CI5 you won't. Get us both kicked off the Squad, that will."

"And naturally that's your only concern."

"Naturally."

"You wouldn't recognise the truth if it bit you on the arse," sighed Doyle. "But I suppose I could have done worse than you."

Bodie blinked. "That was almost a compliment."

"You haven't seen who I'm comparing you with," said Doyle with a grin. "Where are we going?"

"I dunno. I'm starving. Fancy a pint? The pubs will be open in another ten minutes."

"You buying?"

"The first round."

"You're learning," said Doyle with another grin.

"All the time, mate. All the time."

 

Having retreated only into Betty's office, Cowley returned to his own and switched off the intercom which he had left on deliberately. Collecting up the two unread files, both of which contained only blank paper, he dropped them in the waste bin, gave a satisfied nod, and got back to work. They'd do for now; only time would tell if the teaming would achieve all he expected.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Completed 29th March 1992
> 
>  
> 
> Published in _Chalk and Cheese 10_


End file.
